


Making The Grade

by thehotinpsychotic



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Bullying, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:16:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehotinpsychotic/pseuds/thehotinpsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is a student teacher at Gerard's high school. Gerard is taking his class, and finds himself falling for Frank. Gerard knows it's wrong, but he can't help himself when it comes to Mr. Iero. When he finally reveals his love, will Frank return the feelings?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT THE ONLY CHAPTER

            “Hey fag!” a voice calls down the hallway.

            For some reason, I just know that he’s talking about me. I don’t know what it is; my eyeliner, my voice, my hair, but every aggressive teenaged boy overcompensating for their own issues by bullying others finds that I perfectly fit the word fag.

            I decide to ignore them, in hopes that maybe they will give up and leave me alone. I keep my pace, heading down the hall. I feel someone grip the back of my shirt and slam me against the wall.

            And that’s how I find myself face to face with a 6’3” 18 year old who weighs at least 200 pounds. Me, I’m 5’9”, 17 years old, and weigh about 160.

            “Hey, faggot. I was talking to you, it’s rude to not answer,” he growls.

            “It’s also rude to shove someone against a wall before being properly introduced,” I point out.

            “Listen up, queer. I don’t know whatever freak show school you used to go to, but here at Bellville, we don’t accept emo faggots,” he warns. “So I suggest you get out of here and take your gross bottle black haircut, eyeliner, and painted nails with you.”

            “I have as much a right to be here as you do,” I reply. God, that sounded dumb. I always forget this: there’s NO reasoning with a bully.

            “No, fags don’t have rights,” he insists. “I’m going to make your life here a living Hell. And I won’t be the only one; we know an emo fag when we see one. You’ll get hunted down, and picked on to the point you finally get out of here.”

            “Just give me a break,” I plead. “It’s the first day of school.”

            “You know what that means?” he whispers, getting close. “This is just the start.” With that, he takes my backpack and unzips it, throwing it across the hall and allowing its contents to fly in every direction.

            I begin to walk over to retrieve my shit, but the kid slams me back against the wall, lifting me off the ground by about a centimeter by the shirt.

            “So, you have right now to leave and never come back, or I’m going to have to _make_ you leave, right here, right now,” he threatens. “So leave in one piece or in four body bags, your choice.”

            My knees are trembling I’m so scared, so scared that I can’t think of an answer for him.

            “Tony!” someone barks. “Why are you threatening him?”

            “Shit…. Um… sorry,” Tony mumbles. I hear him hurry away, and the same voice who had yelled at him calls,

            “Oh, yeah? Running won’t help! I’ll deal with you later.”

             I glance over to see who had just totally saved my ass. There stands a short boy, who’s got to be a more than a couple inches shorter than me, and I’m short. He has messy black hair nearly covering his eyes, which are amber and full of light. He has a cute freckle on his upper right cheek, and I can tell by a small, almost unnoticeable scar on his bottom lip that it’s been pierced. I wonder why a psycho like Tony would be frightened of someone like him. For Christ sakes, I just noticed how he’s dressed. He’s wearing a fucking waist coat, a grey one, with a black tie, slacks, and light blue dress shirt. How has he not been beaten to a pulp? If I had worn that, I’d never hear the end of it.

            “Are you okay?” he asks.

            I wonder who this student is who has so much authority over someone who is, in the eyes of most people, no different from him, social class wise. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

             He kneels down, crawling as he picks up everything. I help him, and our fingers brush together as he hands me my books. A strange electricity passes between us, and I can’t help but blush, while he either doesn’t notice or pretends not to. I dump everything into my bag and sling it back over my shoulder.

            “Let me know if he gives you anymore trouble,” he tells me, and then leaves.

            I want to call him over and ask for his name, but I’m too busy watching that fine ass of his make its way down the hall. For some reason, as he walks, kids just move out of his way. It’s strange; he looks a lot like me; dark hair, tiny build, tight pants, and yet, no one dares to even get near him as he leaves. I can’t help but wonder who this kid is, and what makes him so damn special.

            You’ll never guess what happened later that day. So I walk into Creative Writing, and sitting behind the desk is the boy from earlier. My eyes flicker around the room, wondering where the teacher is. I decide to talk to him, so I walk up and ask,

            “What are you doing?”

            He looks confused. “What do you mean?”

            “Stop fucking around, why are you in the teacher’s desk?” I elaborate.

            The kid recoils a bit, eyebrows furrowed, and then a slow smile breaks across his face. He chuckles slowly, leaning forward and placing his palms on the desk. “I’m the teacher.” He points at the shiny nametag reading “Mr. Iero”.

            I turn beat red, apologizing repeatedly, “Oh my god, Mr. Iero I’m so sorry I didn’t know you were a teacher.”

            The kids already in the class burst out laughing. Frank rolls his eyes and places a hand on my forearm, comforting,

            “Kid! You sound like a broken record. It’s okay, you didn’t know, so I won’t give you a punishment for swearing.”

            “Thanks so much,” I gush, letting out an involuntary sigh of relief.

            “On one condition,” Mr. Iero states.

            “What is that?” I question.

            “You are to write me a journal, at least four entries a week, and at least two sentences each entry,” he decides. “Keep in mind, I’ll be reading them to make sure you did the work. I’ll give you ten points extra credit if you do it until October, okay?”

            “Sounds good,” I agree, knowing that it’s a sort of punishment and I don’t have much of a choice. This isn’t going to be easy; I hate writing journals.

            “And since it’s not a formal paper, you can swear since you seem to find it so vital,” Mr. Iero allows.

            The class laughs again, and I stutter,

            “A-alright” before taking my seat.

            As soon as the bell rings, Mr. Iero jumps to his feet. He walks to the center of the room, beginning,

            “So, I’m Mr. Iero, and this is creative writing. This isn’t a class that is necessarily required, so it’s nice to know that usually people aren’t in it just for the credits.”

            Well fuck, I’m in it for the credits.

“Now I’m a student teacher, I know, but your school was sweet enough to let me teach Creative Writing this year. They got all of the students pumped up about it last spring. Anyways, so bear with me, this is my first full time class.”

             He paces from one side of the room to the other as he talks, continuing,

            “We’re going to go around the room, saying our name and why we like creative writing.” He holds up his hands and makes a cute face where one of the corners of his mouth dips into his lower jaw. “Now, you can say nothing if you want to. Since I don’t know a lot of you, this is just to get acquainted, if you will.”

            “You should go,” someone suggests. I look over to see who had said it, to see a boy with a curly fro and brown eyes, dressed plainly in a solid black t shirt, boring jeans, and sneakers.

            The class all chimes in with encouragement, so Mr. Iero says,

            “Alright, alright, I’ll go. My name is Frank, and… I like creative writing….” He looks up to the ceiling. He giggles really high pitched, muttering loud enough for the class to hear, “I didn’t think I’d have to say this. Um… I like it because there’s no boundaries. There.”

            The class claps sarcastically, and he does a curtsy in return. He points at a kid in the upper left corner, telling, “You start.”

            About two or three people before my turn, I still can’t figure out what I’m going to say. I don’t want him to know I hate writing, cause even though I know he’s more mature than that, I’m afraid he’d resent me for it, which I definitely don’t want.

            When it finally comes to me, I stand slowly, still trying to come up with something. “My name’s Gerard. And I like creative writing because… it’s….. great.”

            Snickers of other kids ring in my ears as I sit down, face flaming.

            “Cool name,” Mr. Iero compliments, before motioning to the next kid.

            When I get home that night, I don’t have any homework, and it was kind of a shit day, what with being threatened to be dismembered before first period even, so I decide that I’m going to masturbate. I do plan it out a little; I have to sneak lotion and tissues into my room beforehand.

            I blast Smashing Pumpkins to drown out the noise of the porn and my own moans and curses.

I go to a porn site, looking up gay porn. I watch it absently, my thoughts drifting back to Mr. Iero. His laugh, his smile, what his cock would feel like….

            I snap out of it, cause he’s my teacher and it’s gross. I look back at the porn, watch the man’s muscular back rise and fall with the pace that he’s making love to. I unzip my pants, wriggling them down to my ankles. I undo the button to my boxers, slipping a hand inside the slot. It’s super cold as I close it around my dick, so I withdraw it, blowing on it to warm it up before grabbing my cock again. I work up and down, squirting a dollop of lotion inside my underwear to keep things moving smoothly. “Fuck,” I mutter, working faster. I rub the head, my hips stuttering as I do so. Right before I come, Mr. Iero’s face pops into my head, and I end up squealing, “Frank!”


	2. Chapter 2

Journal

By Gerard Way

Entry #1: I have no idea what to write in this. Don’t expect me to talk about my feelings.

 

Frank’s P.O.V.

            I sigh as I look through the massive pile of introductory essays. Of course, out of all the schools I could’ve student taught at, I picked one with 200 students in Creative Writing. Maybe I shouldn’t have assigned this. Even though we’ll be working on creativity and these are factual, a lot of the papers clearly state one thing: these kids can’t write. I take another drink of coffee as I finish off another God awful essay. The punctuation and spelling was shit, it was boring, the transitions were nonexistent, and they didn’t even answer all of the questions I gave them.

            I write 68 with blue pen at the top of the paper. I try not to use red ink, because I read somewhere that the color makes kids look at their grade more negatively and can give them self-esteem issues.

            I make it to another essay, titled, “Introductory Essay”. Oh, this should be thrilling. I check to see who wrote it, to see that it was written by a kid named Gerard Way. Huh, he has a cool name. It sounds like he should be writing comics and playing at Warped Tour rather than taking high school courses. Oh, I remember him. He was the kid who was getting bullied on the very first day.

            I feel bad for the kid. He and I aren’t so different; when I was in high school, I was that weird kid with the black hair, eyeliner, painted nails, tight pants and horror movie t shirts. I was seen as even weirder because of my lip ring and nose ring, which my bullies would pull on and it hurt like Hell. I got called faggot too, and shoved into lockers just because I fit in them.

            Let’s see what he’s got to offer. I can tell he hates writing; he seemed pretty bummed when I gave him the journal assignment.

            I read his paper, to see that it is very well constructed. His writing style is sarcastic and dry, and contains a fluency I’ve never seen at their age. It’s almost poetry without him even trying. I give him an 100 before even thinking about it before going to the next paper.

            I don’t get out the school until about 7:00, and it’s almost dark out as I get to my car. I drive home, blasting the Bouncing Souls, whom I love to tiny unrecognizable pieces. I make it to my apartment quickly, since it’s only a few blocks from the school. It’s actually nice enough outside to walk to work, but I’m afraid that not only kids would make fun of me, but Belville is a high crime area, notorious for muggers, rapists, and gang violence. So, walking, or being outside for over 10 minutes, really isn’t the wisest move in this town.

            I get home, tossing my keys to the side and kicking off my shoes. I take off my waistcoat and undo my tie before tossing my shirt off.  Even though it’s nearly September it’s hotter than Hell outside, and my shitty matchbox apartment is certainly feeling the heat.

            I slip out of my slacks as well, walking around the house in my black boxer briefs. I know that there’s a huge window and probably anybody could look inside and see me, but I could really give a shit. I might as well just let them enjoy the show.

            I sit on the couch and turn on a rerun of Friends while I get out yet more papers to check. That Gerard Way kid’s was so good, I’m kind of hesitant to read more. I doubt that anybody else’s will match up. I wonder what his journals will be like….

            I end up falling asleep on the couch. When I wake up in the morning, I dress quickly, slipping on a short sleeved dress shirt without even noticing, a tie, and khakis. When I get to the school and rush to my room, coffee cup clenched in one hand, I notice that I get weird looks from a lot of students. I brush it off as nothing; if anything; they’re wondering what I’m doing walking around the same time they are, and rush to my room. I put my briefcase on the empty space on my desk, look down, and finally realize that all of the tattoos on my elbows to hands are on display.

            Fuck! No wonder everyone was staring at me! Shit, the school doesn’t even know I have tattoos, other than the ones on my hands and wrists. I decide that the best thing to do is go explain my situation to the principal and apologize.

            On my way to his office, I spot Gerard knelt down in the middle of the hall, gathering all of his books and papers as other students step around him or even kick his stuff. I retrieve his book that someone just kicked, and hurry to hand it back to him, when I notice the cover. Forgive Me Leonard Peacock.God, I completely forgot about that book. When I head back over to him, I give it to him, gushing,

            “That’s a really good book, you know.”

            Gerard nods, his face red and mostly covered by a curtain of greasy black hair.

            “I’m guessing you didn’t drop all of this,” I tell knowingly.

            Gerard blushes even harder.

            I crouch next to him, asking, “Was it Tony?”

            He shakes his head. “Someone else.”

            Why can’t this kid seem to catch a break?

            I pat him on the shoulder, standing. Gerard stands as well, tossing his bag over his shoulder.

            “See you around, Gerard,” I say. I turn to leave when Gerard mutters so quietly I can hardly hear it,

            “Mr. Iero?”

            I face the student, who I have to actually look up at now that he’s on his feet.

            “Cool tattoos,” he compliments, and then scurries down the hall.

            I grin, and then make my way to the principal’s office, ready to kiss ass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you liked it. 
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

            Gerard’s P.O.V.

            I go to Mr. Iero’s class, my pants feeling a touch tight around the crotch area. I slap my book over my crotch, not wanting anyone to be able to see the slight boner I have over the magnificent artwork that is Frank Iero. He was hot before, but now… with all of those tattoos? He’d win Sexiest Man of the Year, for me, in a heartbeat.

            When the bell rings, Mr. Iero rises from his desk and walks to the front of the room.

            “I don’t know if any of you have noticed, but I’m wearing a short sleeve, and my tattoos are showing,” Mr. Iero begins. He starts to walk down the aisle, absently tapping each student’s desk with a finger as he continues. “I apologize, and trust me, an older, and somewhat meaner, staff member rudely informed me that I did not match dress code.”

            His pointer finger touches the head of my desk, and I see an ‘L’ tattooed on. I wonder what word it makes up, and try to read the rest, but his hands are gone just as suddenly as they’d arrived.

            “Was it Mr. Matthews?” a boy asked.

            I glanced over to the area it had come from, to realize that, again, a comment in class came from that boy with the crazy brown afro.

            Mr. Iero holds his hands up, palms towards us. “I’m not going to say no.”

            The class begins to laugh, as I just wonder what’s so mad about Mr. Matthews, and feel kind of sorry for the guy. I mean, an entire class is laughing at him right now, and one student even rightly assumed that they were the one to be a little less than kind.

            I take out my journal, writing down,

            _“Do you ever feel sorry for people? Like, even when you know it’s not your fault? I get that all of the time. This burning pity- no, guilt, in my stomach. I just feel far too much and care too much about people I hardly even know. It’s kind of scary…”_

            I’m walking to the cafeteria when a larger boy behind me shoves me. I stumble over my own feet, nearly falling, but, miraculously, regaining my balance. I decide to ignore him, after all, though I doubt it, he could’ve pushed me on accident.

            When I hear, “Hey, freakshow! Turn around, I want to talk.” I know that the shove was no accident. I stop, and face him, asking,

            “Actually it’s Gerard, but what is it?”

            “What’s it like to suck a dick? I’m sure you would know,” he sneers.

            Oh, he’s mocking me by assuming my sexual orientation and making lewd sexual comments. How original. “It’s fucking great. Best thing ever.”

            “So you admit you’re a faggot?” the boy demands, giving me another push.

            “Look, I’m really not in the mood,” I snap, shoving him back.

            The boy glares at me, growling, “Wrong move, queerbait.”

             My first instinct is to run, but unfortunately, _his_ first instinct must be to expect me to run, because he grabs me by the collar of my shirt and starts to drag me into a bathroom.

            I gag as the front of my collar is pulled up into my throat, making it hard to breathe as I’m torn away from the hall.

            “Hey!” someone barks.

            On first guess, I would say it’s Mr. Iero again. After the whole incident with that Tony, I wouldn’t be surprised if he watched me to see if I was being picked on again. But, no, the voice is, somehow more boyish, not higher, but just childish, I just can’t explain it. Mostly by the way they pronounce it, I guess, with drawled out vowels.

            “Leave him alone! Get away,” they order.

            The grip on my collar is loosened, then altogether a thing of the past. The boy who was picking on me warns,

            “You’re fucking dead, you fag.”

            The person who had interjected was no one but the boy from creative writing, the kid with the afro who was fond of remarking cleverly in class. He has kind brown eyes, and something about them and his hair reminds me of a teddy bear or a puppy. He smiles at me, and offers,

            “Do you want to sit at my table?”

            Over the last few days, I’ve been eating lunch all alone at a table. There’s way too many vacant seats in our lunchroom. Well, I suppose I’d rather sit alone than be forced to sit with strangers, which would be incredibly awkward and unpleasant. Still, a legitimate invitation to sit and eat with someone is a Godsend.

            “Yeah, sounds good,” I agree, following him into the cafeteria.

            Once we sit down, I realize that the boy really doesn’t have that many friends. Only one other boy sits there, a blond boy with some scruff and his face buried in a Game Boy Advance.

            “So, I’m Ray,” the boy with the fro informs. He points at the blond boy, who looks up from the console for a moment to give me a quick up and down look. “That’s Bob.”         

            “Are you….” Bob begins. He squints and leans closer to me, asking, “Are you wearing eyeliner?”

            I turn mad red, pretending to rub my eyes so he can’t see that I, in fact, am wearing eyeliner. I have to be careful, my fists actually a centimeter away from my waterline so that the eyeliner doesn’t smear. “N-no, of course not.”

            “Bob doesn’t care,” Ray says knowingly. He grins at me as I peek out from behind my hands at him.

            “So….. is this all your friends?” I question, trying not to, but still sounding horribly invasive.

            Ray seems taken aback by my question, I mean, who wouldn’t be? I’m about to take it back when he answers earnestly, “Yeah. Sorry, but I’m not sure what you were expecting.”

            “No, it’s…. cool,” I decide. “I… I wish I had a best friend. Can’t say I ever had one, really.”

            Ray gives me a pensive smile. They call our year up, so Ray and I leave to get food while Bob continues to play Zelda in solitude. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it.
> 
> Check out my other works! 
> 
>  
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

             _“I must say, I never quite believed in love at first sight. I was always a realist, thinking you had to know a person before falling for them. But, recent events have forced me to reconsider my views.”_

 

I sit through Frank’s class the next day, minding my own business. I don’t really talk much; I couldn’t sleep last night. I’ve been feeling kind of depressed lately, so I spend a lot of my night contemplating life and suicide when really, I should be sleeping.

            Mr. Iero keeps eyeing me throughout the class, so much that I have to feel around on my face to see if there’s something on it. At the end of class, he calls out, “Gerard, come see me.”

            The retreating kids give a chorus of “OoooooooOOOOOOOOOOH” as they leave, and Mr. Iero gives them a stern look and a flap of the hand.

            I walk over, my knees feeling week. I lean on the desk behind me once I stand in front of his desk, afraid of collapsing.

            “So, Gerard, I hate to be intrusive but…” Mr. Iero’s hazel eyes bore through me as he talks, as if he were trying to study me. “Are you eating right, kiddo? I mean, your skin is pale, you look exhausted, and…. You just seem out of it.”

            When I don’t reply within a second, Mr. Iero throws his hands into the air, running one through his hair as he continues, “I don’t know, it could be nothing.”

            “No, I’m eating right,” I assure. “I’m not sleeping.”

            “Oh,” Mr. Iero replies. “Well, you might want to try exercising before you go to bed.”

            All I can think of is how many people have told me that. “Thanks, I will.”

            “See you, Gerard,” Mr. Iero says, looking down at his papers and grabbing a pen, dismissing me.

            “Bye,” I respond.

            Wow, Frank is such a good guy. He was worried about me. About me! Nobody’s scared for me, ever, not even myself. And sometimes, I feel like that’s way fucked up.

            I eat lunch with Ray and Bob again. As I sit down, Ray nudges me, asking,

            “So, what did Mr. Iero want to see you for?”

            “He just wanted to make sure I was okay,” I answer. “Gosh, he’s such a good guy, isn’t he?”  
            “Oh…. My God,” Ray says.

            “What?” I question.

            Ray slaps my arm, grinning as he realizes, “You _like_ him!”

            My face flushes, as I retort, “No I don’t!”

            “Oh, but you do!” Ray continues. “That makes so much sense. Oh, I must say, he’s a bit old for you, but other than that, I ship it.”

            “Shut up!” I demand. “I don’t like him!” I turn to Bob, desperate. “You believe me Bob, don’t you?”

            “Dude, I don’t mean to be a downer to you, but I’m not even in your class, and I know you like him,” Bob replies. “It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

            “People are talking about me?!” I hiss.

            “Well, yeah! I mean, you love a guy teacher, so it’s kind of gossip gold,” Bob points out.

            “Fuck!” I curse, slamming my head into my hands. “Why me? God!”

            “So, what are you going to do about it?” Ray questions.

            I peer up at him, asking, “About what?”

            “About how you like Mr. Iero,” Ray responds. “What’s his name? Oh yeah, Frank.”

            “I wasn’t going to do anything,” I admit earnestly.

            “What? You can’t do that!” Ray exclaims.

            “Why not?” I reply.

            “Yeah, why not?” Bob agrees.

            “Because! You don’t just like him Gerard, you love him,” Ray says. “I can tell by the way you look at him.”

            My gut twists, because I know it’s true. I love Frank, everything about him. From the very first time we met, when he defended me. “Yeah, well, so? I’m a student, it’s not like I can do anything about it!”

            “Oh, but you can,” Ray insists. “Gerard, you just have to make your move? He shoots you down, so what? Get over it, move on, then you won’t spend every day aching over him or you won’t spend your future thinking about what could’ve happened.”

            I consider this, and then hang my head. “Tell me what I should do.”

            “Um…….” Ray begins. He rubs his afro, squinting. “Hm. I don’t know. Bob, you got anything?”  
            “My sister watches gay porn,” Bob informs.

            “Dude, ew!” Ray objects.

            “No! I mean, in this one, the teacher started spanking the student,” Bob suggests. He sits back, rubbing his beard and realizing, “But you’re not a teacher.”

            “You’re an idiot,” Ray mumbles.

            “You guys, I’m serious, what do I do?” I ask.

            Ray thinks some more, again squinting and rubbing his hair. We’re all quiet, until Ray finally snaps his fingers.

            “What is it?” I ask, eager.

            “It’s a good one,” Ray assures, smiling.        

            “What?” I repeat.

            “So get this,” Ray starts. He clears his throat, and then lifts his hands as he states, “Tell him.”

            My jaw drops open, and not in a good way. “Are you fucking with me?”

“What? No!” Ray replies, seeming offended. “It’s the best way to do it!”

            “You’re saying, that I should walk up to Frank, and be like, “Hey, I know I’m fucking seventeen and all, but you’re hot, I love you, and we should totes get together and make babies”,” I say.

            “Well, maybe not so blatantly,” Ray responds. “Wait, did you say you wanted kids with him?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it,” I dismiss, shoving around corn on my plate.

            Ray opens his mouth to say something, but luckily for me the bell rings, not only cutting him off, but also giving me an excuse to leave. As I walk down the hall, my mind races.

            Do I want kids with Frank? Should I tell him? Even if I do profess my love to him or whatever, should I do it the way Ray suggested? All of these questions swim through my head, and I don’t have an answer to a single one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it!


	5. Chapter 5

            I have decided by the next day that only if Frank gives an indication that he loves me, then I will tell him how I feel towards him.         

            Little did I know I’d get my first indication that very first day of said decision.

            I end up having to stay after class; no, not another one of Mr. Iero’s concerned talks, this time, I was just slow at getting my stuff gathered, sort of on purpose.

            It’s a two hour late start, so my next period is lunch. Mr. Iero studies me sluggishly gather my things, everyone else having vacated the room.

            “Aren’t you in a hurry?” Mr. Iero asks. “I mean, you’re a kid, eating is life to you.”

            I chuckle and flip my hair, trying to seem a little cute. “What can I say, I’m in no hurry.”

            I watch Mr. Iero from the corner of my eye as he stands, heading the back bookshelf, which happens to be right next to my desk. He wedges in between me and the other desk, his narrow hips finding their way easily into the small space. He plucks a book off the shelf, dusting off the battered cover. I turn, to act like I wasn’t watching him.

            “Gerard, you should read this,” Frank suggests.

            “What is it?” I ask, pretending to be more interested in the contents of my backpack than his words.

            “ ‘Chicken Noodle Soup For The Teenage Soul: The Tough Stuff,’” Mr. Iero reads. “It’s pretty gruesome at some points, but you’re a mature young man, and I’m sure you’re fully capable of handling it.”

            I turn around to see him offering me the book. I reach for it, and our fingers brush together as he passes it to me, sending sparks of what feels like electricity through my fingertips. I blush, and turn away so he won’t notice, zipping up my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

            I see Mr. Iero return to his desk, and as he walks past me, I feel, and see, one of his tattooed hands brush across my butt.

            “M-Mr. Iero?” I stammer. This surely means he likes me, right? How much more blatant can he be? And knowing Mr. Iero, he’d be the kind to play it subtle.

            “Hmmm?” he replies, perking his refined eyebrows up. He looks so innocent and oblivious, surely the hand was on accident.

            I scoff, muttering, “Never mind.”

            I pass his desk, focusing on keeping my cheeks unflushed and my penis flaccid.

            “Bye, Gerard,” he calls, opening up a book and kicking his feet up onto the desk.

            “See you, Mr. Iero,” I respond.

            FRANK’S P.O.V.

            I sit down at my desk, taking a long swig from my coffee in an attempt to sober myself. Not from alcohol, but from Gerard Way. I almost got caught giving his ass a little sample. Imagine what would happen if the board had found out. The boy seemed flustered, leaving quickly after. He obviously noticed, because I’m just sooo wily and clever (not).  Still, my reaction to his address must’ve been believable enough to have him sold on the idea that my hand just accidently on purpose found its way onto Gerard’s butt.

            I run a hand through my hair, gripping the roots tightly. God, can I agree with Gerard on the whole haven’t been sleeping well thing. I’m worried it’s going to lessen my judgment, and push me to make a move on the student. It’s wrong; I know; he’s seventeen, but according to his student I.D., he’s turning 18 in April. So really, whichever way you want to look at it, we’re only three or four years apart, max. It’s kind of like a senior dating a freshman, which is okay. So, I should be able to like him right?

            I sigh because I just don’t know, but all I know is that I’m nursing a crippling crush on my fucking student.

            GERARD’S P.O.V.

            At lunch, Ray is all over me with the questions.

            “So did you tell him?”

            “Did he like you back?”

            “He wasn’t upset, was he?”

            “Ray!” I interrupt. Ray looks hurt, so I rest a hand on his shoulder, making him smile. “Look, I decided not to tell him unless he makes a move first.”

            “But…..” Ray looks deflated. He slumps in his seat, shoulders hunched forward and arms hanging limply at his sides. “But he could never do that.”

            “I know,” I say calmly.

            “You can’t just hold it in forever, you know,” Ray murmurs, picking at his food absently.

            “I don’t intend to. But, it’s just a crush,” I point out. “My feelings will eventually fade.” I know that this is a big fat lie. Honestly, I don’t know if I can get over Frank without getting a boyfriend that’s not him.

            Ray sighs, frustrated with me, and Bob’s blue eyes remain fixed on the screen of his D.S.

            I know that Ray has a point. I should act on it eventually. I’m just afraid of being rejected. There are too many things that could go wrong, including Frank possibly getting the principal into it and having me punished. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to do that, but while unlikely, it’s still a valid possibility.

            I try to build up my nerve that night, even writing down what I plan to say and practicing it in the mirror. I work on my best puppy eyes and toy around with my hair, trying to see which style makes me look most sophisticated. No matter what I do to it, I look like a fucking kid. I see scissors on my desk, so I take them and wedge a piece of hair between the two strips of metal. I cut it off, allowing it to fall to the floor. I continue to cut off chunk after chunk, trying to keep it even. I cut it until it’s up to my ears, and comb it forward so I have bangs reaching my eyebrows.

            Finally, I look presentable for tomorrow. Tomorrow is a big day. Tomorrow is the day that I confess my love to Frank Iero. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! Check out my other fics while I update, which I'll try to make soon.


	6. Chapter 6

            As soon as I enter Mr. Iero’s room the next day, he wishes, “Happy haircut, Gerard.”

            I grin at him, deciding to omit that I had done it myself. I sit down in my desk, and the entire period, my heels bounce vehemently as I rehearse what I will say to Frank in my head. The class ends, and even though he has another class next period, I take my chances, sashaying up to his desk. “Mr. Iero? Can I see you after school?”

            “Sure,” Mr. Iero agrees. “Just come in after 9th period, okay?”

            “Alright,” I agree, flashing another smile at him before leaving, swinging my hips the slightest bit.

            Frank’s P.O.V.

            My pants get the slightest bit too tight in the crotch area as I watch Gerard leave. God, it’s like he’s doing it on purpose. I curse him silently, and cross my legs, trying to cut off the blood flow to my cock. My first thought is to run into the bathroom and masturbate really quick, not to completion, but just enough to get my boner to go down. Unfortunately, it seems like it would do more trouble than good, so instead, I sit there until the next class starts, peeking at my crotch every few seconds to see if I can stand up yet.

            Gerard’s P.O.V.

            Thanks to Frank, all day, I’m just counting down the time until I get to see him. At lunch, I’m so anxious that I can’t eat. Ray pokes me, asking,

            “Gerard? You haven’t touched your food.”

            “I’m just kind of nervous,” I admit.

            “Why?” Ray questions. Even Bob manages a look up from his gaming console.

            “I…. I’m going to tell Frank how I feel,” I share. A slow smile creeps onto Ray’s face, and even Bob’s lips curl up a little.

            Ray smacks me on the back, much too hard. “I’m so happy for you! You have to text me and tell me how it went.”

            “I will,” I assure. I just sit there for the rest of the period, twiddling my thumbs because I can’t contain my excitement. I literally feel 6 years old again on Christmas Eve. Jovial, anxious, and ready to tear into that present. I’m ready to tear into Frank Iero.

            I leave guided study in the flash of an eye, sprinting up the three flights of steps as though they were nothing. Only when I make it to the third floor do I realize how winded I actually am. I take a moment or so to recollect myself, going to the bathroom to fix my hair and get a drink. I head to Mr. Iero’s room, rapping my knuckles against the door frame.

            “Gerard,” Mr. Iero greets, not looking up from his book. I read the cover, which says “The Fault In Our Stars”. It’s a recent book, but already the cover looks worn.

            “Hi, Fran- I mean, Mr. Iero,” I correct, blushing.

            “Sit down,” Mr. Iero instructs, shutting the book and smiling amiably.

            I sit down in the desk right in front of his, my hands trembling. I intertwine my fingers and put my hands in my lap so he won’t notice.

            “So, why’d you come to see me?” Mr. Iero questions. He smirks at me almost, almost as if he knows why.

            This makes me even more nervous, and I feel my back break out in a hot sweat. “I… I have something to tell you.”

            “What is it?” Mr. Iero asks, eyebrows knitting with concern.

            “Don’t…. don’t be mad at me if I tell you,” I beg, my throat swelling.

            Mr. Iero leans forward, resting a hand on my forearm. “Gerard, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

            I nod, and he lets go of my arm, setting back into his normal slouch. “So, shoot.”

            “I…. I like you, Mr. Iero,” I admit, teeth clenched.

            Mr. Iero makes a face, his eyebrows furrowed, lips upturned, and eyes narrowed. “Uh, I like you too, Gerard.”

            “No, I mean….” I take a deep breath before finishing, “I love you.”

            Mr. Iero’s quiet. After a moment of silence, me staring into my lap and Mr. Iero studying me, Mr. Iero tells softly,

            “Gerard, you know that I can’t love you back, right?”

            Tears threaten to fall. My voice comes out wavering as I reply, “I know.”

            “Hey, don’t cry,” Mr. Iero pleads. “It’s okay.”

            The tears have already begun to trail down my face. I dip my head, allowing the tears to slide off my cheeks and fall in droplets onto my lap.

            Mr. Iero hands me a box of tissues from his desk, which I accept. “I don’t want you to cry over this, Gerard.”

            I nod, dabbing at my eyes. God, this is so not how I planned for things to go.

            Mr. Iero sighs, and comforts, “So, you’ve got a crush.” He waits for me to look up at him, shooting me a small lopsided grin. “So what? Do you know who I have a crush on?”

            “Who?” I sniffle.

            Mr. Iero smiles even wider as he shares, “ _Fight Club_ era Brad Pitt.”

            I chuckle, asking, “Really?”

            Mr. Iero nods, saying, “Well, I see those hipbones and just can’t…..” he trails off, and then shakes his head vehemently. “So, I like him. Right? But I know I can’t have him, so do you know what I do?”

            I shake my head, shrugging.

            Mr. Iero smiles and continues, “I acknowledge my attraction instead of pushing it down. I just accept the fact that I think he’s cute and then move on. Ya know?”

            I nod, telling, “Thanks, Mr. Iero.”

            “No problem,” Mr. Iero replies. “You know, I don’t know if you’re gay or bi or just don’t care, but would you like to join the school’s GSA? We meet here on Fridays during guided study.”

            “Sure,” I decide. Mainly because it means I’ll be able to be around Frank some more. I stand, saying, “See you.” I drag my feet out the door as I leave.

            “Hey, Gerard! Wait!” Mr. Iero calls.

            I turn on a dime, asking eagerly, “Yes, what is it?”

            “Thanks for coming in. Really, you handled the situation very maturely.”

            I smother a groan as I force a grin and exit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I'll try to update soon, but in the meantime, try reading some of my other fics!
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

My first GSA meeting is the next day. I go in after school, not really sure what to expect. All I know is that this better get me some brownie points with Frank. If this doesn’t bring us closer, then I don’t know what will.

When I get to the room, the desks are arranged into a circle of about fifteen chairs, and Mr. Iero sits in one of them. He grins at me when I walk in, so I smile back. I head over and plop down in one of the empty chairs, with this one chubby red-headed kid named Patrick on my right and a boy with tea green eyes and a brown Beatles 1964 era haircut on my left. Both of them are cute, but have they _seen_ the work of art that is Frank Iero?

Patrick nudges me, and asks, “You’re new to GSA, right?”

I nod, answering, “Yeah.”

Patrick smiles at pats me on the shoulder, saying, “Welcome to the island of misfit toys.”

The chairs slowly fill up, and when everybody’s present, Mr. Iero starts the meeting.

“We have a new member today.” Mr. Iero looks directly at me, which makes me squirm in my chair. “Gerard? Would you like to introduce yourself and maybe tell us a little about your experience as a LGTBQ teen?”

I stand up, tugging on the end of my shirt anxiously. “My name’s Gerard and-”

“HI GERARD,” the entire group interrupts.

“Um, okay,” I mutter. “I knew I was gay after kissing a girl in the 4th grade and, well, not necessarily enjoying it. I’m in the closet, because I’m afraid of how people will react if I come out.”

“What is it that you’re afraid they’d do?” Mr. Iero asks.

“Well, I had a friend named Peter Wentz, at my old school,” I inform. “He came out in the second grade. And…. All of the kids picked on him for it. I mean, they threw rocks at him when he walked home from school. Certain adults were just as bad as the kids; I can list at least 6 households he wasn’t welcome in. So, yeah, I didn’t exactly want to go through what Pete went through.”

“Thanks for sharing, Gerard,” Mr. Iero tells. I sit down, peeking around the circle to see how well received my story was. “Shall we all introduce ourselves to Gerard?”

The group simultaneously nods.

“Patrick Stump, why don’t you go now?” Mr. Iero suggests.

Patrick stands, not really seeming nervous or even rattled at all. “I’m Patrick,” he starts in a voice much too deep for his baby cheeks.

“HI PATRICK,” the group greets, except for me, who is still trying to get a hold of how things work.

“I came out in the seventh grade, here at this school. And…” Patrick rocks on his heels, stuffing his hands into his front jean pockets. “I was _shocked_ by everyone’s reactions.” The group all exchanges nervous glances. I look over at Mr. Iero, who is actually smiling and nodding along with what Patrick is saying. “I was treated…” Patrick glances over at me with those baby blues and grins. “Very well. I mean, obviously one or two guys were a bit ruffled and a couple more would make fun of me, but, overall…” Patrick looks from person to person. “I was accepted. I was treated with respect.””

Patrick sits down, and everyone claps.

Mr. Iero thanks Patrick, and then moves on to the next kid, girl named Lizzy.

I don’t really listen to the other kids much. Instead, I spend the meeting considering what Patrick had said, and contemplating about whether I should come out or not.

After the meeting, I catch Patrick on his way out.

“Hey, Patrick,” I start.

Patrick turns around, surprised to see me or maybe even anyone in general talking to him outside of class and GSA. “Yeah?” He pushes his chunky, dark glasses further up onto the bridge of his nose. I can’t hold back my grin at the gesture, because it reminds me of my younger brother, Mikey.

“How did you come out?” I ask.

Patrick shrugs, telling, “Well, I came out two different times. Once, was at a family gathering. I told everyone to gather round, then just went, “I’m gay” and left the room. I did it again at school, telling my class in a piece of writing we were supposed to share. And trust me, I had a lot of help having it spread around the school after that.”

“Do you think I should do that?” I question.

Patrick considers this, tilting his head and pushing his hat to the side to scratch the top of his head. “Well, I mean, it’s different for everybody. I’d say the main thing to take into consideration when coming out is how your demographic will react. Try to cater to them a little bit.”

“Thanks, Patrick,” I thank. He nods, so I grab his arm. “Really.”

Patrick’s pink lips upturn, and he replies, “It’s my pleasure, Gerard.”

I get home that night. My parents and Mikey are out at Mikey’s soccer game, so I have the entire house to myself. I lounge around in my briefs and t shirt, trying to think of an idea for how to come out. My parents probably won’t react too well, so I figure that it’s best to not do it anywhere public.

I’m searching for something to eat when I get the perfect idea. Why not make a cake? I mix all the batter, pour it into a nice circle pan and put it in the oven. When it comes out, I let it cool for about 15 minutes before going at it with blue icing. In red, I write in frosting over the top, ‘I’m sorry, I’m gay –Gerard’. I figure that, hey, at least they get a cake, and this way, it gives them time to react to it before talking to me. I go to bed that night, fully realizing then that although I won’t see them until after school tomorrow, there’s still a chance that they’ll absolutely hate me, their gay son. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and if you enjoyed it, leave a kudos! I'll try to update soon (And probs will cause I'm really excited for the next chapter). 
> 
> Want to message me privately? -----> www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com/ask


	8. Chapter 8

I wake up the early the next morning. Well, 10:00 on a Saturday morning is early for me. I reach my arms above my head and stretch, allowing a yawn to escape from my lips. I glance in my mirror at my bedhead, satisfied with how messy it looks. I step out of bed, pulling on a pair of pajamas over my briefs and going downstairs shirtless.  
I’m about to take the turn that leads me down the steps when Mikey skids in front of me, blocking my way.   
“You don’t want to go down there,” Mikey warns.  
I push him to the side, ordering, “Get out of my way.”  
Mikey plants himself in front of me again. He shakes his head. I’m getting angry when I notice his expression, the wrinkles of distress in his forehead and the glitter of worry in his hazel eyes. “Mikes? What’s wrong?”  
“Mom and Dad are really mad at you, Gerard. Just sneak out the window, come back once they’re cooled off,” Mikey suggests.  
I sigh, replying, “Mikey, that’s stupid. I have to face them sometime, don’t I?”  
I move past him, but he falls to the floor grabs onto the ankle of my pants, begging, “Gerard, please don’t go down there!”  
“Let me go!” I bark, shaking my leg to rid it of his grip. He looks hurt, so I kneel down to his level and comfort, “Mikes, I can do this. You’re going to have to trust me. I can handle this.”  
I head down the steps, glancing back to see Mikey staring at me, his eyes full of woe. I scoff. Really, what’s he so nervous over? This is my parents, for Christ sake’s, the dad who wears overalls to barbeques and the mom who would pet my hair when I was sick.   
I see no sign of my parents until I enter the kitchen. My mother is sitting at the table, her head in her hands, weeping. My father is standing over her, his large hands on her shoulders and rubbing them in an effort to soothe her.  
“Mom? What’s wrong?” I ask.  
My dad looks up, and suddenly, his dark eyes move from sympathetic to furious. “You… little shit!” he hisses.  
“What?” I question.  
He gestures at the table, where I see the cake I made. There’s a huge glob of cake missing from the center in the shape of a fist. A lump rises in my throat as I realize that my father has cake frosting on the side of his hand. “Do you think this shit is fucking funny? Do you… you think you’re cute?” he demands.  
“No,” I answer truthfully.   
“You must, surely, think you’re hilarious to have the balls to pull shit like this, Gerard,” my father insists. “I mean, to… to pretend you’re gay? That’s fucked up.”  
“I…. I am gay,” I admit, the lump getting bigger.   
“Don’t you say that,” he whispers hoarsely. He takes a step towards me.   
“I’m gay,” I repeat.   
My dad punches me in the eye. Every nerve in my face feels as though it was aflame, and I immediately fall to the floor, rolling around in pain. I gaze up at him through one already swollen eye, to see that the motherfucker is smirking. I start to crawl away from him, but he grabs me by the ankles, yanking me back towards him. He grabs the back of my shirt and lifts my chest off of the ground, smacking the back of my head and then dropping my upper torso.   
My mother’s wails ring through my ears as my dad proceeds to beat me. Everything goes white, but I can still feel every single kick.  
The next thing I know, I see Mikey prying my dad and I apart.   
“Stop it!” Mikey cries, putting all of his body weight against our father.   
My father raises a hand to hit Mikey, and I lose it.   
I grab one of the chairs and smack my dad on the knee, sending him writhing on the ground in pain. “Don’t you fucking touch him! If you touch one hair on his head, I’ll break every bone in your fucking body!”  
My mom sobs, “Please boys, just stop fighting!”  
“We’re going. I will not be in the same house as that abusive asshole,” I declare. I grab Mikey’s hand, ordering, “Let’s go, Mikey.”  
Mikey stands still. I tug on his wrist, urging, “Come on, Mikes, I’m going.”  
Mikey stares down. He removes his glasses to let some tears fall out of his eyes, and then replaces them. He wipes his face and turns to me, responding softly, “I’m staying.”  
“After all that?!” I demand. “Mikey, he just tried to hit you!”  
“I know,” Mikey replies. “But…. Fuck, Gee, this is our family. You can’t just leave them behind.”  
“Don’t go, Gerard,” my mother weeps.   
“Are you going to ditch him?” I question, kicking my father’s side.  
My mom bows her head, the tears answering my question. I throw my chair to the side, claiming, “Fuck you. Fuck all of you. I’m going; I’m not staying here. Not now, not ever.”   
I go upstairs, gather some things, and leave with the full duffel bag. Mikey and my parents stay put in the kitchen. I tell them, “I hope you’re happy.” With that, I leave, walking into the breezy morning.  
I go through my phone, thinking of people I could call. I don’t really have many friends. I’d call Ray, but his phone is currently broken. I’d call Bob, too, but I don’t have his number.  
I walk to the square, sitting on the bench and letting out a sigh of defeat. What the Hell am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go? I’m a new kid with two friends.   
I look over to notice a baby in a carriage. If I were little, I could just drop myself off at someone’s doorstep and be adopted. I’m seriously contemplating this idea when I notice a contact I’d just added yesterday.   
I can’t really tell you why I do it. I don’t think, just press the call button and put the phone to my ear. After a few rings, he answers, asking,  
“Hello?”  
“Frank,” I answer. “It’s Gerard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it. 
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter 9

            “G-Gerard?” Frank asks. “Why are you calling? Questions about GSA?”

            “No,” I reply sadly. I look up as I continue, blinking back tears as I tell, “I can’t go home, Frank.”

            “What’s wrong?” Frank questions. I hear the clattering of keys in the background, followed by the roar of a car engine.

            “My dad…. He beat me up,” I admit. “All because I told him the truth.”

            “Gerard, where are you?” Frank worries. “You’re away from him, right?”

            “Yeah, I’m about a mile or so from our house,” I inform. “At the square.”

            “Lay low, okay? I’ll be looking for you. When you see a black car pull up, get in. Alright?” Frank orders.

            “I think you’re overreacting,” I tell.

            “This is serious, Gerard. He _hit_ you. That’s messed up,” Frank responds.

            “Well, I know that’s messed up, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t really mean it. He was just really angry,” I say.

            “There’s no such thing as hitting a child and not meaning it. I’m here,” Frank replies.

            I look around, to see a black car finally. I hurry over, getting in the passenger seat. Frank greets me with a sad smile and an understanding nod before putting the car in drive.

            My legs are crumpled in the small space, folded like a chair to fit in the small vehicle. I look over at Frank to see if he’s having the same problems, to see his short legs comfortably reaching the pedals and his seat pushed up even further than mine.

            The drive to Frank’s is unbearably quiet. I stare at my fingernails while Frank gazes out at the road and steals worried glances at me he thinks I don’t notice. We pull up to a car dealership after an excruciatingly long five minutes or so. Frank gets out of the car, so I follow, pulling on the hem of my shirt and fingering the fabric.

            Frank digs his hand into his pocket, pawing around for his keys. He enters the building with me on his tail and starts up the first flight of steps. He fishes the keys from his pocket, fumbling with hem as he takes an attempt to comfort me.

            “You know, you’re probably scared, but there’s a lot more options for kids like you nowadays.”

            “That helps,” I lie, trying to be polite.

            Frank stops in front of one of the oak doors, plunging his key into the lock. He turns it, apologizing as he opens the door,

            “Sorry it’s such a mess. I’ve been so busy teaching that I haven’t really had time to maintain it.”

            I walk in to Frank’s apartment after him. The place isn’t as bad as a wreck as Frank had made it seem; other than some papers on the table and a pile of dirty clothes on the couch, it’s pretty spotless.

            Frank takes my bag and sets it on the floor. “You can stay here for the night while you find someone to stay with. Do you have any other family?”

            I shake my head. “Not in this city, anyways.”

            “Any friends you can stay with until you can go with them?” Frank questions.

            “Ray Toro…. But I don’t know if his parents would let me,” I answer.

            Frank nods, and then slaps himself, muttering, “God, what am I doing. You need to chill; I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.”

            “It’s fine,” I tell.

            “So, what do you want to do all day?” Frank asks. “I have to go get groceries tonight, if you want to go with me.”

            “That sounds fun,” I answer.

            Frank giggles, scratching his mop of hair. “You’re kidding. But if you really want to, it never hurts to have a shopping assistant.”

            “Cool,” I agree. “Do you want to watch movies?”

            “Okay,” Frank replies. “Go open the cabinet under the TV; there’s a bunch of DVDs in there.”

            I crouch to the floor by the TV, opening the door to see one of the largest DVD collections I’ve ever seen in actuality. I smile as I pick up A Clockwork Orange, asking Frank,

            “You like this movie?”

            Frank peeks over to see what movie I’m holding, and shakes his head. “I bought it because I heard it was good, and I haven’t actually seen it yet.”

            “Oh, you have to see it,” I gush. I stand, popping it in the DVD player and sitting down next to the pile of laundry. Frank sits next to me, apologizing bashfully,

            “Sorry again about the laundry.”

            “It’s fine,” I assure.

            Throughout the movie, Frank nudges me and asks me questions, which I answer in detail. Frank always nods, and then turns his attention back to the screen just to ask another question how many minutes later.

            Right at the scene where Alex is going under aversion therapy, a pair of what must be Frank’s black boxer briefs from the stack next to me falls into my lap. I pluck them off of my lap and put them back into the pile, and although, at first, Frank doesn’t appear to notice, when I look over at him, his cheeks are bright red.

            I fall asleep right around the part where Alex is forced to show a crowd how he’s reformed. When I wake, Frank’s gone, the stack of laundry is no longer present, a blanket’s around me and a pillow is tucked under my head.

            I rise, to realize that my shoes have been taken off as well. I amble into the kitchen, where I see a note from Frank. I recognize his chicken scrawl in a second.

            “Dear Gerard,

            Went to get some groceries. I would’ve asked you to come, but you looked so peaceful sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you! I should be back around 7:00. You can eat whatever you can find (please don’t make a mess).

                                    Your teacher (and I like to think mentor),

                                                                        Frank”

            That cute son of a bitch. I end up making mac and cheese, and when Frank returns, he helps me with my homework before we both go to sleep, him on the couch, and me in his room.

            Frank’s room is even more meticulously organized than the rest of the place. He has posters everywhere, so many that it’s difficult to define what the color of the actual wall is. I sleep in his bed, which smells of him so much that I involuntarily let out a soft moan as I pull the blanket up to my nose.

            I fall asleep around 10:00, the last thing I see Frank’s photograph of him and who I can only assume to be a girlfriend tacked to his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I'll try to update soon, but in the meantime, check out my other works!
> 
> My tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	10. Chapter 10

Frank allows me to wake myself up the next day, seeing as it’s a Sunday. I head into the living room to see him still asleep on the couch. I quietly creep over to get a better look. His lids are heavy against his eyes, and his mouth a faint line. His hair is a ruffled mess, and the blanket has fallen off of him. He’s wearing Coke pajama bottoms with an oversized Christmas sweater, which has risen to the bottom of his ribcage, bearing not only his stomach and waistline, but also displaying quite a large chunk of his bright pink American Eagle boxersm the ones with the little grey and black birds all over them. I shake my head at his cuteness and roll the blanket back over him, going to the bathroom.

I return to the kitchen initially for a glass of water, but after finding this note,

“Dear Gerard,

In case you wake up before me, feel free to make whatever you want for breakfast.  Be careful to clean up after (I know I know I’m a neat freak). I should be up by 11:00 ish. There’s a TV and lots of books in my room which you’re welcome to browse through for entertainment, seeing as you didn’t bring anything along with you but clothes, understandably. See you soon, kiddo.

            Your friend, Frank”

            I smile at the note, noticing that it’s only 9:30. So, I make myself some breakfast, and go back to Frank’s bedroom, watching an episode of Jackass. I’m done with my cereal about ten minutes in, and decide to look through Frank’s book collection, which is massive. There’s a large shelf, a crate of them, and a hanger full of them on the back of his door. I find some comic books, including the Pokémon Adventures series and Kill Your Boyfriend. I leaf through Kill Your Boyfriend, which I’ve read about 8,000 times, when Frank appears in the doorway, showered. His hair hangs in wet snarls, framing his face. He’s wearing a light wash denim button down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his tattoos. The low collar reveals both of his neck tattoos and those on his forearms. It’s weird to see all of his tattoos in their full glory. I’ve only seen them one other time; when he had mistakenly worn a short sleeved shirt to school. Other than that, he keeps the tattoos that aren’t on his hands very well hidden. He’s wearing tan khakis that are a touch too long, so long that they’re rolled up and cuffed at the ankle. He hangs in the doorway, arm slouched lazily against it. “You know, that’s a good comic.”

            “I know,” I agree. “I’ve read it.”

            Frank smirks.

            “What?” I ask, sensing his grin. I finish the page and then looking at him, playing up my hazel eyes.

            “Many books will be read once, but only a special selection of books do we take the time to read more than that,” Frank tells, that smile still painted onto his face.

            I shake my head, grinning myself. He offers,

            “I’m about to make lunch, if you want to help?”

            “What are we having?” I question.

            “I was thinking… spaghetti? Do you like that? Cause if you don’t, then I could totally make something else. It’d be no problem at all except I’m vegan so there’s kind of a limited option of food I can eat and of course the sauce will be meatless,” Frank rambles.

            “That’s fine!” I cut in. Frank stops and blushes, and I apologize. “Sorry. Just didn’t want you to wear yourself down.”

            Frank becomes abruptly chipper, beaming and repeating, “So, are you helping me or what?”

            I stand, tossing the comic onto the bed. I follow Frank into the kitchen, rolling up my own sleeves as we walk.

            Frank chops up a bunch of vegetables on a pink cutting board, of course not without asking me if I like every single one that he severs. I dump the sauce in, and Frank slides the veggies in after, lifting the pan and tossing it around a bit to mix it up. He retrieves a spoon from the drawer, handing it to me.

            I reach for it, and our fingers brush, sparking a flickering electricity from mine to his to back to me. I grip the spoon tightly and recoil, shuffling over to the sauce and putting all of my concentration into not letting it settle.

            Frank does the noodles, contently watching me stir until the water’s boiling. He drains them, and I throw the sauce into the pan.

            We end up having way too much for just two people, and even though Frank and I eat two large plates each, we are left with half of a pot of vegan spaghetti. We keep the rest in the fridge and clean up the kitchen together.

            “Thanks for helping out, Gerard,” Frank thanks, tossing a dishcloth over his shoulder. He dips his hands into the sink, starting on the dishes. I only now notice that he doesn’t have a dishwasher.

            “It was fun,” I reply.

            “Well, I’m glad,” Frank responds, pausing to look up and smile at me. He turns his attention back to his dishes, continuing, “So, we can have leftovers for supper. I didn’t think that my perception of spaghetti consumption would be that skewed, but I’m used to cooking for more people.”

            “How come?” I wonder aloud.

            “College,” Frank answers earnestly. “Lots of nights with six people in an apartment, minimum.” Frank gazes out his window in pensive thought. “Ya know, it’s those little things. We did that every Friday and I couldn’t wait to get out of college. I never would’ve thought I’d miss it.”

            He plucks the dishes from the sink and places them on the rack. He sets the dishtowel down onto the counter, walking past me on his way to the bathroom.

            “Frank?” I begin.

            “Hmm?” he responds.

            “Who is that girl on your wall?” I question.

            Frank inspects the patterns on the tile floor, mumbling, “Ex-girlfriend.”

            I’m about to apologize for prying, but Frank slams the bathroom door. Although no water runs, he doesn’t come out for thirty minutes. I swear I can hear choked back sobs escaping through the walls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I'll try to update soon, so in the meantime, try some of my other fics. 
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	11. Chapter 11

            Frank wakes me up the next day early, like, 6:00 in the morning. He apologizes,

            “Sorry, I know you don’t have to be there until 8:20, but I have to be there at 7:00. You can shower, if you want.”

            I trudge to the shower, balling up my clothes on the way. I strip and step in, being greeted by a cool spray of water. It’s strange; to be in this place where Frank has been naked so many times. The mere thought of something as obvious and simple as Frank showering naked overwhelms me to the point that my breathing accelerates.

            I get out, dressing quickly and going to the kitchen. Frank is sitting at the table reading yesterday’s paper, chunky reading glasses on and a mug of steaming coffee in one hand. He looks so grown up that it scares me.

            I sit next to him, and he asks,

            “Gerard, would you like some breakfast or coffee? Feel free to help yourself.”

            I pour a big ass mug of coffee since my mom never lets me have it. She says that it’ll keep me up all night and I’m sleep deprived as it is. With that, I have some Fruity Pebbles, which has the puzzle on the back completed. Judging by the sloppy, all capitals handwriting, it was Frank.

            We leave the house at 6:40. The crisp air greets us, and Frank wears a jacket, almost as if he’s not aware that the cold will be gone by 11:00.

            “Aren’t you cold?” Frank questions. He looks at me skeptically, at my bare arms and thin t shirt.

            “Kind of,” I reply.

            Frank chuckles, “Well, then wear a sweatshirt.”

            “What’s the point? It’s going to be warm the next time I’m outside,” I reason.

            “Just because you won’t suffer later doesn’t mean you should pull yourself through unpleasantness now,” Frank retorts.

            I stand there, pondering what he said. “Gerard?”

            I turn, to see Frank already in the car, starting the engine. “Get the lead out, bud. Hop in.”

            When I arrive at school, Frank goes to his room, offering, “You can hang out in my room if you want. Not many kids are here this early in the morning.”

            “No that’s fine, thanks,” I reply.

            I sit in the hall against my locker, reading when the boy from my first day, Tony, walks up, snatching my book. He tears the front cover and drops it to the floor, kicking it.

            “That was my copy!” I bark.

            “Then pick it up,” Tony orders.

            I sigh as I give in, standing to retrieve the book, because no way am I crawling over to it. How degrading would that be? But as I head over subordinately and bend over to take the torn book, I realize that this act itself is embarrassing at best and derogatory at worst.

            Tony seizes me and brings me into a headlock, which I desperately squirm to try to get out of. “Let me go!”

            “I see Iero drove you to school today,” Tony snickers. “You fucking him, fag?”

            “No!” I insist, still struggling to escape.

            “Tell me the truth. Don’t worry; you’re amongst friends here, Way,” Tony lies. He grips the waistband to my black briefs, warning, “Tell me.”

            “I’m just staying at his house,” I admit.

            “Scandalous!” Tony teases. “Why?”

            When I don’t answer, he jerks my underwear up. Because I’m wearing briefs, the material shoots directly up my ass.

            “Why?” Tony repeats, pulling harder.

            I plan on not telling, but eventually, I can’t take it anymore. “Because my dad beat me!”

            Tony releases me abruptly. He scoops up my book and hands it to me without making any eye contact. He leaves, his shoes shuffling quietly down the hall as he fails to lift them off of the ground.

            Tony Clarke never talked to me again.

            At lunch, I ask Ray, “Do you think I can stay at your house for a while?”

            Ray smirks, “What’d you do, piss your parents off?”

            “Something like that,” I mumble.

            Ray grins, shoveling a forkful of food into his mouth. “How many nights?”

            “At least thirty,” I answer truthfully.

            Ray chokes on his mouthful, pounding his chest. Through clogged coughs, he wheezes, “You’re kidding, right?”

            I shake my head. “I wish I was.”

            “How come you need to stay so long?” Bob questions, momentarily glimpsing over his Game Boy.

            “I’m kind of not welcome at home,” I confide.

            It becomes dead quiet. Ray breaks the silence, asking,

            “Well, where are you staying now?”

            “With Frank,” I answer truthfully.

            This rises a hoot and a slap on the back from Ray, and even Bob cracks a slight smile.

            “It’s not like that!” I inform.

            “What are you going to do?” Ray ponders.

            Again, the silence is unbearable, and the tension so thick you could slice it with a knife. “I don’t know.”

            Frank asks me to see him after class. Gee, I wonder what about. My stomach rolls as I walk up to his desk, anticipating the worst.

            “So, did you find anywhere to stay?” Frank questions. He smiles despite the twinge of melancholy I see in his green eyes.

            “No,” I confess. “I hate to be needy, but do you think I could stay another night?”

            “You can stay as long as you have to,” Frank assures. “I promise, okay?”

            “Alright,” I agree, unable to meet his eyes. God, the poor kid would do anything for me. I bow my head and turn to leave when my elbow is grabbed.

            I turn to see Frank sprawled out over his desk, chest in a stack of papers, just so he can reach me. He leans back into his chair once he realizes he has my attention, and adds,

            “Don’t feel guilty about this, Gerard. It’s _not_ your fault.”

            “Well, if I hadn’t dropped the gay bomb on my dad, he never would’ve done this,” I point out. “Also, I wasn’t exactly thrown bodily from the house and told to never return. When you think about it, it really is my faul-”

            “I don’t care,” Frank interrupts. “All I care about is that you know you didn’t cause this. Any of it.”

            Frank offers a grin, but he still has a glimmer of sadness in his eyes. I don’t know if it’s for me, for his ex-girlfriend whom I kindly resurfaced memories of, or for something totally different. All I know is that it looks like it’s tearing him to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you liked it! This story has like five chapters left, tops!
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	12. Chapter 12

I stay at Frank’s house again, and the next morning, I’m the one to wake him up, which means another occurrence of me staring dreamily at Frank as he sleeps, oblivious.

            I shake him lightly, really not wanting to disturb him, especially since I heard him awake past midnight the previous night. Unfortunately, it’s 6:00, so I have to.

            Frank moans sleepily, then lets out a high pitched whine as he stretches his arms. He glances up at me and smiles, yawning,

            “Good morning, Gerard.”

            I grin back, replying, “Morning, Frank.”

            Frank gives another high pitched yawn and stumbles off of the couch, dragging himself to the bathroom. He’s showered and ready to go at 6:30. He grabs a coffee on his way out the door, and I follow, inhaling the aroma desperately.

            When we get in the car, Frank sits there, not touching the ignition. Instead, he sets his keys down and looks at me. “Gerard, you’ve been going through shit beyond your years.”

            I stare into my lap, twiddling my thumbs as Frank adds,

            “Sorry for cursing, but it needed to be said.”

            I nod, and wait for Frank to start the car. But he doesn’t. He leans closer to me, asking,

            “Gerard, look at me. Please?”

            I force myself to look up, meet his eyes. Frank lets a smile, and runs a hand through his disheveled hair, informing,

            “You know, I was up so late last night.”

            “You were,” I agree.

            “Do you know why?” Frank questions, the smirk on his face growing noticeably bigger.

            I shake my head. “I don’t like to pry.”                                                        

            Frank answers, “I was finding you a home, Gerard. I remember you telling me about your uncle who lives just a few towns over. And guess what?”

            “What?” I ask flatly. I know he would never take me. I peed in his plant when I was five and shot his dog with a BB gun on accident when I was 10. Not only that, but I know that he doesn’t agree with gay rights. He’s devout and would never want a kid like me fucking that up for him and his family.

            “He’s happy to have you join him this weekend,” Frank boasts, bearing a grin too large for his face. “You’ll be staying Friday, and then Saturday afternoon, you’re going with him.”

            I hug Frank. It’s an impetuous move, based solely on impulse. Frank did something incredible for me. Not to mention, I had only told him what town my uncle lives in, his first name and his job. And Frank managed not only to contact him but to convince him into taking me in.

            Frank chuckles and rubs my back, breaking the hug. “Just thought you’d want to know. So just a few more nights at my house, and then you’re off, kiddo.”

            “Frank- I mean, Mr. Iero, I can’t thank you enough,” I gush.

            “Call me Frank,” Frank insists.

            We drive to the school, where I tell Ray the good news.

            He’s not enthused. He doesn’t even crack a grin.

            “What’s up your ass?” I question. Bob’s eyes dart up from the screen of his console at the swear.

            “Well, you’re moving! And Frank… he’s gone after this year. He’s going to a different school,” Ray points out.

            “And?” I push.

            “AND!?” Ray exclaims. Some kids look over, and I duck my red face in embarrassment. I’ve always hated having attention called to myself. “Are you ever going to be with him?”

            “I told him I liked him, and he didn’t exactly return the feelings,” I growl through gritted teeth.

            “You don’t know that. He could’ve just lied to protect his job,” Ray responds confidently. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Gerard.”

            “Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want me, Ray,” I remind.

            “You won’t be a student of his anymore,” Ray proceeds. “You’re spending one night at his place off of your student obligations, correct?”

            “Correct,” I reply, still not seeing what he’s getting at.

            “So? Date him!” Ray encourages. “It’s totally legal! As long as you don’t have sex. When do you turn 18?”

            “April,” I answer.

            “Oh. Well, I advise you wait till then but….” Ray winks at me. “I can’t get in the way of free love.”

            I shove him, groaning, “God, you’re weird!”

            “Come on, Gerard. Give me one good reason not to do this,” Ray orders.

            “Um, I don’t want to?” I guess. “Also, I’ve already been shot down by him once, and that fucking hurt. I don’t know if I want to go through that again.”

            “Fine, fine,” Ray agrees.

            “Finally!” I sigh, relieved. I take a spoonful of food in, when Ray adds,

            “Just consider the fact that you’d likely never see him again. Just think about how you’d never find out if he loves you back.”

            I nearly spit out that spoonful.

            I spend the week rehearsing what I’ll say to Frank, how to convince him to date me. I figure maybe he’ll appreciate an essay on why he should go out with me, seeing as he’s an English teacher and all. Or maybe a poem since he’s a creative writing teacher. It ends up being somewhat of a short speech.

            Friday rolls around so quickly that I’m still considering the idea of a haiku, perhaps. In GSA, I don’t say much, too anxious to speak or engage myself in the discussion. Prom’s coming up, so we’re learning about our rights as far as what we wear and who we take. I’m not going to prom anyways, so I really don’t have a valid reason to pay attention.

            At the end of GSA, Patrick stops me in the hall.

            “Gerard, you didn’t really do anything today. Are you tired, or what?”

            “Just tired,” I lie. I force a smile, which Patrick returns with a grin.

            “Tell me what’s really bothering you, ya’ little shit,” Patrick demands through his smile.

            My eyebrows jolt up in surprise at his reaction. I agree to tell Patrick everything, spill my guts all over the floor.

            The conversation starts with,

            “You have to promise not to tell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! Only one or two chapters left. If there's only one, which there probably will be, I can promise that it'll be a longer one. I'll try to update soon! 
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	13. Chapter 13

I tell Patrick everything, and he doesn’t say anything, just listens and nods. When I’m finished, he says,

            “Well, I agree with Ray. Now or never, kid.”

            I reenter Frank’s room with this admonition in mind. I watch Frank pack up his things, slip into his jacket and put his scarf. He smiles at me, nudging his head towards the door. “Vamos!”

            When we get home, Frank piles his jacket at the door, and I set my bag down in its new usual place next to our shoes. It’s hard to think that it won’t be set there again, so I push it out of my mind.

            Frank goes off to his room, and I try to entertain myself by doing some dreaded weekend assigned homework. I’m halfway through a problem in Geometry when I get stuck, not knowing if I should divide by pi at this point or not. I saunter off to Frank’s door, opening it without knocking.

            I see Frank standing in the middle of the room, disrobed to his bright red boxer briefs. He turns and sees me, notices that he’s almost naked, and turns fuchsia. He hastily grabs a t shirt off of the floor and wraps it around his waist, explaining,

            “G-Gerard! I wasn’t expecting you to come in!”

            I beeline for Frank, yanking that t shirt off of his hips and letting it fall. I press my lips into his, draping my arms over his shoulders. Frank at first resists, but settles into the kiss, even pulling me closer by the waist.

            I lick Frank’s bottom lip, a signal to allow entrance into his mouth. He grants the access, and I fill his mouth with my own tongue. We kiss for a bit, breaking apart every ten seconds or so sloppily to catch breath. I wrap one arm around the small of Frank’s back, stepping forward and forcing him to stumble backwards towards the bed. I lower him onto the mattress, sucking on his neck tenderly.

            I straddle Frank, unzipping my pants and wrestling them to my knees. Frank blushes at the sight of me in my Calvin Klein boxer briefs, so I decide to make him feel more comfortable by lying next to him rather than on top of him. I take off my shirt, tossing it to the side, and gradually step out of my underwear and pants. I slip a thumb inside the waistband of Frank’s boxer briefs, locking eyes with him before gently sliding them down to his ankles.

            I find myself by Frank’s shins in the process of removing his underwear, so I resurface, bringing my tongue along his inner thigh as I bring my head up to meet his. Frank shivers at the touch, and I see his fingers tremble.

            I loop my tongue around the base of Frank’s cocks, arousing more quaking from Frank. His dick gets hard as I take it into my mouth, grabbing Frank’s shoulder with one hand for leverage. I lick the top of the head, knowing that it’s the most sensitive part. Frank seems to not be aware of this, as he lets out a cracked shudder in surprise.

            I grin as I continue to suck him off, deep throating him. I blindly grab at his chest, finding his nipple and giving it a pinch. Frank gasps as I deep throat him once more. He comes, his head tilting back and a low growl coming from the depths of his throat. I swallow, and pull apart, looking at him breathlessly.

            Frank pulls me up to him, wrapping his arms around me. He pecks me on top of the head, nuzzling his head into my shoulder.

            “Did that just happen?” I wonder aloud.

            Frank laughs, and rolls over, grabbing a pen. He writes on my collarbone, ‘Mine’. “Now you can remember it did.”

            We lay in bed in silence until we fall asleep.

            When I wake up the next morning, I’m surprised to see Frank dressed, shaking me awake. “Gerard. You’re going to your uncle’s today!”

            I blink myself awake, to see that I’m wearing pajama bottoms and a t shirt. Last night…. Frank and I…. did we?

            Frank throws some clothes at me, urging, “Gerard, you have to hurry! He’ll be here in ten minutes!”

            Frank leaves me to change, so I strip out of my clothes as quickly as I can, redressing into the new clothes. I pack up all of my things, still trying to wake myself up. I can’t decipher over what happened last night. All I remember is Frank and I kissing.

            But then again, it could have been a dream.

            Frank pats my shoulder, grinning sadly. “I’m gonna miss you around here, kid.”

            “I’ll miss it, too,” I reply, holding back tears. I know that my uncle lives how many times over, so I won’t go to school here anymore. Knowing that this is the last time I’ll see Frank in a while, I pounce on him, hugging him tightly.

            Frank stiffens, but then relaxes, sighing loudly. He rubs my back, telling, “Take care of yourself.”

            “I’ll do my best,” I promise, not for my own self-worth and health, but for Frank.

            My uncle pulls up to the apartment building, so I bid Frank one last melancholy look before leaving. As the car leaves, I swear Frank wipes a tear away before closing the door.

            I get to my uncle’s that night, and decide to shower. When I take off my shirt, I see written on my collarbone in Frank’s all capitals scrawl, ‘Mine’. The entire night comes back to me, Frank writing on me, the blowjob, everything.

            But it’s all too little too late. I step into the shower, scrubbing the word off. Scrubbing away all that Frank had given me, and all that we were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I know, sad ending, and no sequel. 
> 
> Check out my other fics!
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	14. Chapter 14

Epilogue

                I don’t see Frank until an entire year later. He ends up keeping his teaching position at my previous school, and Ray and Bob give me updates on how he’s doing. I see him every now and then when I go back to visit Ray or Bob, because Ray lives right next to him now.

                But every single time he sees me, it’s just… not like it was when I was living with him. He used to hug me and tell me to keep my head up and call me kiddo. And now, that same man can hardly stand to look at me.

                I go to college, which lessens my visits with Frank even more. I only see him about twice a year. It’s hard to believe that we had been so close, and now we barely even talk.

                Every time I see Frank, I think of that fateful night. I look over to see if he remembers; if it was special for him, too. And he’ll smile at me, and I feel like it’s our little secret rendezvous. Our own magic night, that will stand as unique because it never happened again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and check out my other fics! 
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


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